


Empathy Belly

by walviemort



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Empathy Belly, F/M, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Weight Gain, belly inflation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 11:03:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17866046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walviemort/pseuds/walviemort
Summary: Killian gets on the wrong end of Emma late in her pregnancy, and finds himself wearing a baby bump, too, but this one of the magical variety. He can "take it off" once he's walked a few miles in her shoes; will he get there before the baby arrives?





	Empathy Belly

“Darling, please come out—we’ll be late.”

“It’s just my parents; they won’t care. And I’m not leaving!”

Killian sighed and leaned against the locked bathroom door. They were days away from becoming parents but honestly, he had no idea how they were going to survive until then—not with the way Emma’s changing emotions were giving them both whiplash.

He knew that was one of the side effects of pregnancy, and had done all he could to help Emma deal with them. But now, at 40 weeks and 4 days, they were both at their wits’ ends. 

This particular morning, Emma had decided her favorite maternity leggings were now her least favorite and, having no other preferred pants, couldn’t leave the house. He’d offered up every other pair she owned as well as his own sweatpants, which she’d been known to steal more and more often as their baby took up more and more space, but nothing pleased her. 

“Maybe you could wear a dress, love?” he offered as a last-ditch effort. This was probably the last normal Sunday morning they’d have for a while, and he knew she’d regret it if they missed their weekly breakfast date with David and Snow.

“And have my thighs chafe? No way. Is this some kind of joke to you?”

Killian sighed again and ran a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time in the last 20 minutes. “Of course not, Swan; I just thought you’d want—”

“Don’t ‘Swan’ me when I look like a whale, Killian! You have no idea what I feel like right now!”

“No, I don’t, my love. But I wish I did so I’d know what to do to help you feel better.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. But, Emma, please tell me what you want; I’m not a mind reader and...Emma?” 

Suddenly, there was a shift in the air—like a static charge filling it. Emma’s magic had been known to go haywire during moments of intense emotion, but this didn’t feel accidental—this seemed like it was intentional.

“Emma, are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Just...leave me alone until you’ve walked a few miles in my shoes.”

“What does that…?” he started to ask, having no idea what she meant, until he realized that whatever her magic was doing was concentrated on him. And that his jeans felt far more snug than they had a moment ago.

He looked down at his midsection and indeed, the waistband of his pants was cutting into his flesh. But the pants weren’t shrinking—it was he that was growing.

He could only watch as his stomach slowly expanded under his clothing. He placed his hand on it, in a vain attempt to hold it back, but it did nothing as his growing belly strained against the buttons of his top.

Finally, one of the buttons gave way, flying off the stretched shirt to somewhere across the room. Another one followed it, and then another, until none were left to hold his shirt closed over his still-expanding gut. He must have looked something like his alternate reality self did when they’d first met. But something told him this wasn’t done.

No, his belly continued to grow outward, and heavier with each passing moment. He had to shift his stance as his pants became too uncomfortable to bear; just when he was about to try to take them off himself, he heard a tear as the seams gave way to his widening hips and still-expanding stomach.

The last button that had been holding onto the top of his shirt also gave up the struggle, and his typically firm chest joined his swollen belly in jutting out proudly in front of him. And still he continued to grow, and braced his hand on his lower back for support.

It was like watching Emma’s pregnancy in a fast-forward: he was at seven, eight, nine months, in fairly rapid succession, but also felt somewhat like a water balloon being filled. 

Just as quickly as it had started, it stopped, and he dare say he resembled Emma at present, if not a bit larger. The bump was heavy and sat low on his hips, and he almost swore he could feel the phantom movements of something inside him, even if that was impossible. His breasts ached and his back was already complaining, and he’d only been “pregnant” for a couple minutes.

“Emma, what...what is this?” he finally asked, staring in both awe and horror at his new physique and tracing his round stomach with his hand.

“I told you. Come back when you’ve walked a few miles and then you’ll know how I feel!”

“Emma, darling—”

“Go!”

If there was one thing his centuries of life had taught him, it was when he’d lost an argument (an event that didn’t happen with much regularity until he’d met Emma). And if he was interpreting her instructions literally, then he needed to move.

Right. Move. One foot in front of the other. But he’d hardly taken a step when he nearly fell over, his center of gravity drastically different from what he was so used to. 

The destroyed jeans that were falling down his legs didn’t help, so his first task was to get those off. His attempt at kicking them off only saw him falling backwards on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Then his first try at sitting back up was a complete failure, the bump constricting any movement from his midsection. He figured out a way to turn on his side and press himself to sitting, but even that effort left him panting. How the bloody hell would he make it out of the house at this rate?

He did manage to bend down enough and tug the pants off, but just barely. Before dropping the tattered denim to the floor, where it would be completely inaccessible for the foreseeable future, he fished his phone from the pocket to check the time. He still had a bit before they were supposed to meet his in-laws at Granny’s, and he’d need every second. If Emma wasn’t going—and therefore wasn’t driving—then he’d have to walk; he hardly trusted himself to operate the Bug on a good day, though he was getting better. But he wasn’t about to try like this.

Emma’s discarded leggings were sitting next to him on the bed. He glanced between them and the remnants of his jeans, assessing; he could go out in his sweatpants, if he wished, but his sense of decorum just wouldn’t quite let him. But Emma’s maternity leggings were much closer to the usual silhouette he wore, and he knew her size was pretty close to his at the moment...he’d try it.

“Try” being the operative word; it was definitely a struggle to get them on, but once he was able to bend enough to get access to his feet, they went on like a charm. Until he had to stand to finish pulling them up—that was a feat. He’d seen Emma do it often enough that he knew he needed to change his stance, but seeing and doing were very different things; he managed, somehow, though, and tugged the stretchy fabric the rest of the way up.

Actually, they were pretty comfortable, and the way the elastic hugged the bump was oddly comforting. It still felt like the weight of his belly was tugging him forward, but this counteracted it somewhat.

Now for a top; he knew Granny’s rules on shirts and shoes being requirements for service. That and he didn’t want to terrify anyone in his current state; Storybrooke was strange, but not this strange. Slowly, he shuffled across the room to his closet, finally figuring out how to keep his balance on the way (he only had to catch himself on various pieces of furniture twice).

Before he could start what would likely be a futile search of his closet, he caught a glance of himself in the full-length mirror that stood next to it. From the front, it really just looked like he’d put on a bit of weight; the line of hair that traversed his stomach looked a bit thinner as it stretched, but nothing so dramatic as when he turned to the side. As surreal as it was to look down and see the changes, it was almost more so to see it in his reflection, so unchanged as it was for so many years. Although, as jarring as this all was, he couldn’t say it was necessarily a bad look—how could he when he’d spent the last few months enjoying Emma’s expanding, luscious curves? It was just...unnatural.

Before he lost any more time staring at himself, he turned his attention back to the closet, searching for something—anything—that might keep him covered up. A baggy tshirt did a fair job, but he could feel cool air on the underside of his belly from where it didn’t reach. He bypassed all his button-ups and ignored his sweaters, but that didn’t leave him with much else.

On the floor, though, he noticed a bundle of fabric he recognized as a hoodie he’d borrowed from David a month or so ago and hadn’t yet returned. Awkwardly, he knelt to pick it up; it was certainly bigger than his own sweatshirts. It would have to do. And it did, just barely.

Going downstairs was truly a test of his limited balance, but he managed to not go head over feet on the way. He was more grateful than he’d ever been for the slip-on shoes Emma had bought him a year ago, that had mostly sat unused by the door until today. And thankfully, when he poked his head out the door, there was no one out and about on the street. As casually as he could, he started the short—but surely arduous—walk to Granny’s.

By the time he got to the diner, he was out of breath and deeply regretting the choice of a sweatshirt on a mild spring day such as they were having. But he could see Snow and David seated in their usual booth, and hauled himself up the steps to join them.

He should have known that all eyes would be on him as soon as the door swung open—they always were, really—but today was the one day he wished they hadn’t. A few jaws dropped as they noticed his changed appearance. Vainly, he tried to suck in his stomach, but he knew that wouldn’t do a thing, so he just covered it (as much as he could) with his hand and took long strides to where the Nolans sat, practically collapsing in the booth—though it was definitely a tight squeeze.

When he’d finally caught his breath, he opened his eyes to two very confused, concerned expressions across from him.

“Killian?” Snow started in a small voice. “What...what’s going on?”

“And where’s Emma?” David added.

“Emma has has decided that she is too large for any of her clothes and refuses to leave the bathroom. She’s also decided that I find humor in the situation and that I ‘need to walk a few miles in her shoes’. Apparently, this is what she meant by that,” he explained, gesturing to his stomach.

“Huh,” was all David could say.

“Is...did she really give you the baby?”

“I don’t think so,” he replied, although something was giving the sensation of kicking at the place where the table hit his belly. He rubbed at it in an attempt to stop it, but it only seemed to speed up—much like their own child did whenever he chased her around Emma’s stomach.

“She didn’t.” Killian would have jumped in his seat were it not for the extra weight holding him down, but his eyes darted up—Zelena was standing at the end of the table. “Did it hurt when she did that?”

“No; it was weird, to be sure, but not painful.”

“Then it’s just a simulation—like one of those empathy belly things they have at the high school,” she explained. Though her magic was long gone, she was still the only expert on it in town, and had developed a kind of sixth sense at reading spells, both the written kind and the already-cast kind. “A rather good imitation, too, from the looks of it. May I?” she asked, sitting next to Killian and reaching toward the bump.

“Go ahead.”

He completely understood what Emma meant when she talked about how weird it was to have other people touching her stomach, especially as Zelena took an almost clinical interest. “Oh! Well hello there,” she said as the kicking feeling pressed against where her hand sat. “Now that is indeed a clever bit of magic. And she said you had to walk a few miles?”

“Aye.”

“Yeah, it seems she meant that literally—the spell has a release within it, but only after you’ve walked exactly three miles.”

“Couldn’t True Love’s Kiss work?” Snow posited.

“Not right now,” Killian murmured, thinking of Emma’s ire.

“Afraid not. It’s a spell, not a curse. It will go away on its own, though. Better get walking, Captain.” She slid out of the booth as little Robyn joined her. “Although, I must say—it’s a good look on you.” And then she disappeared from the diner as quickly as she’d shown up.

That left the three of them in a slightly stunned silence as Zelena’s assessment settled. Three miles? How on earth was he supposed to cover that distance in this state? He’d be lucky if he got there by the time the actual baby arrived.

“I...I can go talk to her,” Snow finally said, quietly. “Maybe Emma can lift it anyways?”

“No, it’s...fine.” It wasn’t really, but he knew how Emma might react to her mother’s mothering. “I’ll handle it.” Of course, the spell chose then to simulate a sharp kick to the ribs, making him wince. He rubbed the sore spot and continued, “I just wish there was a way to keep track of the distance.”

“I told you to get a fitbit,” David chastised as he glanced at the never-changing menu. It hadn’t escaped Killian’s notice that David was avoiding looking at him, either because of the weirdness of the situation or because he’d realized it was his sweatshirt covering it from view.

“David, hush. Well, do you have your phone on you?”

“Yeah,” he replied, digging it out of the pocket on the hoodie, where it had been pressed against his lap for this entire conversation.

Snow took it, pausing only to smile at his lockscreen (a picture of their last sonogram), and then started poking around. “Okay, here you go,” she finally said, turning it around. “The Health app tracks your distance, too. When did you start holding it today?”

“I put it in my jeans pocket right before this.”

“Good; that means this distance is only since she cast the spell. So you only have...oh.” Her face fell when she looked back at the screen. “Only two and two-thirds of a mile to go.”

“Bloody hell,” he complained, hanging his head. He wanted to rest it on the table but he couldn’t move that far. And then his stomach started growling; he hadn’t realized how starved he was until just now. But he wasn’t hungry for his usual stack of pancakes; no, today, he wanted—

“Bacon omelette with jalapenos and maple syrup, hash browns, plus a full order of french toast?” Granny was at the table with her arms full of food.

“Yes; how did you know?” he asked as she set the plates down in front of him.

“It’s what Emma’s been wanting lately. Figured if she was trying to give you the full experience, it included this.”

“Thank you, Madame Lucas,” he effused, and then could barely wait before he dug in. It was a monstrous amount of food but incredibly, it was gone faster than he could have believed.

Plates clean, he leaned back against the booth and rested his hand on top of the belly. “Damn. That hit the spot.”

Snow was giving him a soft smile, but Dave was smirking. “You sure that was a spell?” he quipped.

“Why don’t you go piss of your daughter and find out for yourself?” he tossed back, then realized what he’d said. “Sorry; that was harsh. My apologies.”

Snow reached over and patted his hook. “It’s okay; it’s just the hormones.” She was right—it probably was.

David was still studying him, though, and tilted his head. “You busted right out of your clothes today, didn’t you?” he figured out, and started laughing.

“Wouldn’t you like to—oh.” Killian started a half-hearted taunt back, but whatever was causing the moving sensation within decided to aim for his bladder just then. “I...I believe I need to use the restroom. Excuse me.” It took much longer than he’d have liked to slide out of the booth and get to his feet; a glance across the diner at where the bathrooms were told him this would be something of a lengthy trip. “Actually, I should probably bid you adieu now rather than keep you waiting. Have a lovely day.”

“Take care!” Snow shouted.

After the adventure that was using the restroom, the only logical place for Killian to go next was the ship; it would get him at least a bit closer to the three-mile goal and was the only place he might find some level of comfort outside of home, while also escaping the stares that continued to dog him as he exited the diner.

Thankfully, the rest of Storybrooke was still mostly asleep, and he only had to fend off one open-mouthed stare from one of the dwarves—and made a point of inspecting his hook, which promptly made Sneezy avert his gaze and walk faster. An odd pang of jealousy hit Killian then, though: usually, his stride was longer and faster, and he’d have been able to rush past the dwarf and not revert to threat tactics. But with the way his belly now sat low on his hips, it greatly impeded his speed and his gait felt more like a waddle than a walk.

By the time he finally reached the docks, he’d never been more grateful for the railing on the modern gangplank, and leaned heavily on it as he ascended. He’d barely set foot on the ship before he was plopping down on the stairs to the quarterdeck, massaging the spot low on his belly where the phantom kicking was most active. 

He’d felt that countless times from the outside; feeling it from within was surreal—not altogether unpleasant, but he could see how it would get annoying. And the academic side of him was curious to know if this was a true simulation, or in some way an exact mirror of Emma’s current state. But he’d ask that later, when her emotions had cooled a bit.

He also took a look at the tracker on his phone and sighed; he’d only just hit the first mile.

So he hoisted himself back up and puttered around the ship, doing a bit of routine maintenance. He knew there was a storage room below deck that could use a cleanout, but he took one glance at the ladder to his cabin and gave up that idea immediately.

He checked his phone again after sweeping the deck; there was no noticeable change in distance, but a text from Emma was requesting some rocky road ice cream and fresh strawberries from the market. As soon as he read it, he realized that he, too, was craving both, as well as beef jerky, for some reason. To the grocery store it was.

Being Sunday, it was a popular time to be at the store, so plenty of eyes were on him. But now, he didn’t mind so much—he was too focused on the freezer aisle to really care. Bloody hell, every flavor sounded amazing right now; the walk over (roughly half a mile) had left him overheated and debating removing his sweatshirt, but then he remembered the too-small tshirt on underneath and didn’t wish to terrify anyone. Consequently, ice cream sounded like the perfect solution. He tossed a gallon of rocky road into the cart, as well as one of peppermint and some mango sorbet.

The strawberries were an easy find, as was the jerky (but, again, there were too many varieties to pick from—yet another marvel of this realm—so he grabbed a few and hoped they were palatable). The teenager working the register either didn’t notice Killian’s changed form or was too polite to comment—a lesson the older lady behind him in line could have learned.

But then Killian got outside with his bags, which were much heavier than anticipated. And he realized it was nearly a mile walk home. Blast.

As he was trying to work up the self-motivation to make it seem easy, a familiar truck stopped in front of him in the parking lot.

“Need a lift?” David asked through the open window.

Killian let out a long breath. He was halfway through this ordeal; the walk home would put him significantly closer to being done. But his ankles ached something fierce, as did his back.

“Aye,” he conceded, hanging his head. For the moment, he was beat.

Of course, getting up into the truck cab was a small adventure in itself, and the seat belt just barely fit across him. But it felt so good to not be on his feet as David drove off.

“Just how bad is it?” David asked, clearly caught somewhere between amused and curious.

“Do you remember every complaint Snow had in the week before she gave birth?”

David winced. “Yeah.”

“It’s all completely accurate. I just want to sleep and eat and repeat. But I have to walk, even though there’s a 40-pound waterskin strapped to my midsection.”

David pulled up in front of the Swan-Jones house and put the car in park. “I don’t envy you, that’s for sure,” he said, patting Killian on the shoulder. “Want me to help you in?”

“No, I’ll manage; wouldn’t want to risk her going off on you, either,” he added, not knowing what wait for him inside. He at least had an end in sight, whereas Emma had an uncertain number of days left in this. “Thanks again.”

“Good luck,” was all David could say.

Killian trudged up the front walk with his bags and fumbled with his keys—which fell, of course. His first instinctive attempt to bend over and grab them didn’t go very far, but he somehow managed to squat to get them, and headed inside without further issue.

“Emma, I’m home,” he called out upon entering the house, but no response met him—so either she was taking a well-deserved nap, or still not speaking to him. Either way, he shuffled into the kitchen, dropping the bags on the table, and began the process of maneuvering around to put everything away. He hadn’t realized how narrow the kitchen was until he kept constantly bumping into chairs and counters; no wonder Emma had been struggling in here lately.

He helped himself to some sorbet and jerky, both separate and together. On any other day, he’d have turned his nose up at it, but the combination of salty and sweet hit the spot. With a huff, he settled onto the sofa with his bowl; it wasn’t the most comfortable setup but it felt so damned good to get off his feet.

Once he was finished with his treat, he set the bowl on the coffee table and propped his feet up on it. It was definitely weird to look down and not be able to see them, blocked from view as they were by the curve of his belly. But the moving sensations within it had finally calmed down, and he found that he too was ready for a respite.

Before he knew it, he was fast asleep. 

* * *

Some time later, he wasn’t quite sure how long, the strangest tickling sensation he’d ever felt woke him up. It seemed to be coming from his belly button, but he didn’t recall that ever being so sensitive. What on earth…?

He tried to sit up, but something was holding him down—and then the sleepy fog of his mind cleared and he remembered.

Blearily, he blinked his eyes and looked around. He glanced down at first, just to make sure he hadn’t dreamed up the day’s events, but no—there was definitely a large, round bump under his palm. He could still feel the tickling sensation low on his belly, but he couldn’t see that far around his stomach to find the source.

Until a light giggle came from the seat next to him. He turned his head to find Emma there, looking happier than she had anytime in the last week or so.

“Well, I’m glad to see you smiling, love,” he commented, voice gravely with sleep, and started to smile back. But then the phantom movements from his belly jabbed him particularly sharp in the ribs, drawing a wince.

Emma did the same, at the exact same time. “I guess that worked better than I thought it would,” she said sheepishly.

“I’d wondered if you’d synced it up like that. It’s certainly a brilliant bit of magic, Swan—you impressed Zelena.”

“She saw you like this?”

“Yes, and she was rather amused.”

“Did my parents see you, too?”

“I think half of Storybrooke did. It’s a lucky thing your pants fit me.”

“Oh, wow.” She leaned back, eyes wide, as she finally took a look at what he was wearing. “I didn’t really think about that when I cast the spell; I guess that explains why your jeans are on the floor.”

“And there they shall stay for a bit, I gather. I’m not entirely sure how you made it down the stairs, let alone pick anything up off the floor.”

“Practice,” she shrugged. “It’s not as noticeable when it’s gradual like this was. And food is pretty good motivator.”

“Indeed it is,” he agreed with a chuckle. “I should probably watch it, lest I actually look like this,” he observed, patting his bump.

“Oh, I don’t know—I kind of like it,” Emma said, scooting a bit closer so their bellies touched. “There’s more of you to love.”

“Quite how I feel about you at the moment, my stunning wife,” he replied, laying it on thick. Whatever it took to make sure she remained calm.

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t protest; progress. “Do you know how much farther you have to walk?”

“I’m about halfway there, I think; would be less, but David gave me a lift home from the store.”

She hummed in response, but it was quickly turned into a groan and she clutched her stomach.

Bloody hell, was this it—was their daughter finally arriving? He didn’t feel anything on his end, but perhaps the spell didn’t mimic those. “Emma, what was that? Do we need to go?”

She let out a heavy sigh as she fell back against the cushions. “No; I think that was just another Braxton-Hicks.” Those had been plaguing her off and on for the past few weeks; he was calm at first, but now that the due date had come and gone, he wasn’t as keen to let them pass by.

“Are you sure love? I’ll take you to the hospital; just take this off me and we can go,” he offered, pressing up into as much of a sitting position as he could muster.

To his surprise, she glared at him. “What, you think you can get out of it that easily?”

“What?” How on earth did her mind jump there? “No, love, not at all—I just—”

“Just wanted to get out of this early. No way, buddy—if I don’t, you don’t.” She got to her feet faster than he’d seen her move in weeks, and then flicked her hand. “Two more miles!”

He felt a slight tingle over his abdomen as her magic worked, extending the duration of the spell. “Bloody hell; that wasn’t what I meant—”

But she was already heading away from him, back toward the stairs. He attempted to rise to follow, but was pressed back down by the weight of his belly—and then some. Wait, did it just get larger?

“Enjoy the extra weight, too.”

Dammit. So much for keeping her calm. And now his task was even more daunting. He gave himself one last, long exhale, before moving on; the sooner he got to the end of the spell, the better—especially if that wasn’t just false labor.

It took more effort than he could be and the use of all his limbs to get upright, and he was instantly aware of the extra weight in his bump once he was on his feet—everything had shifted that much lower and further out in front of him, pressing the fabric of the sweatshirt taut.

At least he was better prepared to move this time, even if was just that little bit more uncomfortable compared to earlier; it didn’t look like he was carrying twins, but perhaps this bump better mimicked how Emma felt. He tried to follow her up the stairs, but his foot had hardly met the first step when suddenly, he was outside, staring up at the porch.

He felt the buzz of his phone and dug it out.  _ Don’t come back until you’re done _ , read the message from Emma. He sighed and let his head fall back, eyes closed, very nearly completely exasperated. How had today gone so awry?

A sharp jab from his stomach brought him out of his haze of self-pity; better get a move on. But when he opened his eyes, the low position of the sun in the sky told him that he probably wouldn’t accomplish his goal by nightfall. If he was to spend the night away from home, then there was only one place he could go.

By the time he reached David and Snow’s house, the sun had almost completely set, he was out of breath, sore, so tired, and his emotions were getting the best of him once more—what if he never reached the end? Would he be stuck like this for always? Would he not be able to see Emma again, or meet his daughter?

When Snow answered the door, it was to her watery-eyed son-in-law, sniffling hard and trying not to cry. If she was surprised, she covered it quickly and opened her arms. “Oh, Killian—come here.”

He managed to not let too many tears fall as he stood in Snow’s embrace, but it was definitely an awkward position with the bump there. Snow held on as tight as she could, though.

“She got upset again, didn’t she?” she asked, rubbing his back.

“Yeah,” he murmured into her shoulder.

“And then she amplified the spell somehow?”

“Mhmm.”

“And you’re tired and hungry and are pretty sure you’ll never see your feet again?”

“Aye, milady.”

“Don’t worry; we’ve got you.”

He couldn't protest as she guided him to the sofa, finding an extra pillow for his lower back. “Oh, that feels wonderful,” he gushed as he leaned back. “Thank you.”

“Make yourself at home, Killian; I’ll get you some food.”

He hated the feeling of being an intrusion or unable to take care of himself, but the walk over had truly drained him; it was a good thing he had those slip-on shoes, because he was sure his ankles were twice their normal size. He propped them on the ottoman in front of him and sighed at the almost instant relief.

“Kill?” Neal was standing at the opposite end of the couch. Now 8, he looked more and more like his father each day, but had Snow’s coloring—the almost exact inverse of Emma. In Henry’s absence, the two had grown closer, and Killian would make a sailor of him yet. But right now, he just looked terribly confused.

“Ahoy, mate,” Killian greeted tiredly. “How goes it?”

“Fine,” he said, but his voice indicated it was anything but and he couldn’t take his eyes off Killian’s midsection. “Why do you look like Emma right now?”

He huffed a chuckle at the observation. “Because, my lad, your sister has an odd sense of humor.”

Neal took a seat next to him and proceeded to pepper him with questions, none of which he minded, but he was getting rather hungry. Thankfully, Snow was there a few minutes later with the best-looking sandwich he’d ever seen and mug of ginger tea. He’d watched Emma drink countless mugs of that, especially early in her pregnancy, and always thought it a step away from disgusting; but now, he guzzled it down.

“This is so weird,” Neal decided, eating his own sandwich next to him.

“Indeed it is.”

Killian pulled out his phone to take a look at his progress: 3.25 miles. So she’d definitely extended it, but a walk back home should wrap things up. However, he knew he didn’t have the energy for that tonight.

“I hate to ask this, milady,” he started as she brought him another mug, “but might I avail you of the spare bedroom tonight?”

“Of course! I’ll see if I can’t find you something more comfortable to wear, too.” 

The rest of the evening was spent lounging and watching TV with Neal, who seemed to adjust to everything pretty quickly—or had simply lost interest.

At some point, though, he was being gently shaken awake by David. “Hey, man—let’s get you to bed.”

“Mmkay,” he hummed, as David helped him get to his feet. He didn’t miss David’s accompanying groan at his heft, but thankfully, his father-in-law said nothing as he continued to guide him up the stairs and patiently followed his slow movement.

Snow had set out what he assumed to be a pair of David’s lounge pants and one of her old maternity tops; David left him to change and then Snow checked in a couple minutes later.

“Do you have enough pillows? Need anymore tea?”

Her attentiveness made him realize he could probably be doing that a bit more for Emma; he generally followed her lead in the pampering department, knowing she didn’t like hovering, but perhaps he could attend to some more creature comforts in these last days of pregnancy.

“I’m fine, love—thank you; thank you for everything.”

She still came over and helped him get situated, showing him where to put extra pillows to help him sleep with the belly. “It’s my pleasure; thank you for taking such good care of my daughter.”

He scoffed. “I think I’ve learned some things from you tonight, given the situation.”

“Hush,” she scolded gently. “You’ve been doing fantastic and if I was in Emma’s place, I’d probably have done the same thing to David, just out of sheer frustration. Don’t blame yourself. Blame your daughter,” she concluded, teasing.

“Alright,” he chuckled back. “Good night, mum.”

“Good night, Killian.”

He was passed out again as soon as the door shut behind her.

* * *

He’d been sound asleep for awhile—though he did wake a few times to adjust things—when a dip in the mattress woke him again.

Before he could even attempt to roll over and inspect it, he felt the now-familiar sensation of a large bump pressing into his lower back, and two arms snaking around his chest, though they clearly weren’t sure where to go with things as they were now.

“I’m sorry,” Emma murmured. “I really am.”

He reached up to squeeze her hand, then began the arduous process of turning over. He just hoped the creak of the mattress springs didn’t wake up the rest of the house. But finally, he was facing her, the peaks of their bellies touching. “It’s alright, love; I know you’re frustrated and I should probably—”

“No; don’t even continue. This one is all on me, Killian—everything is just all over the place and I’m frustrated and tired and I took it out on you. Twice. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m so sorry.” She tried to lean forward to kiss him, but couldn’t quite reach—so he met her halfway.

“I appreciate the apology, but really—it’s been an eye-opening experience. I completely understand how you feel, darling. And I’ll try to make the next few days as comfortable as possible.”

“Just keep doing what you’ve been doing; I promise that’s enough,” she assured, squeezing his hand. “But I won’t say no to a massage or two.”

“It’d be my honor,” he swore, tugging her hand to him so he could place a kiss on the back of it.

“And I owe you one once this whole thing is over.”

“Deal.”

She tried to snuggle closer, but obviously couldn’t with his bump in the way. “Ugh, now I’m really regretting this; I just want to cuddle!” she whined.

He chuckled softly and rubbed her arm. “We’ll get there, Swan; less than two miles to go.”

She groaned. “That’s two miles too far.”

“You can’t remove it?”

“I wish,” she sighed. “Since it’s not permanent, I can only add to it, not remove it altogether. Sorry.”

“‘S alright. It is a fantastic piece of magic.”

“I know,” she answered smugly, rubbing his belly, then winced a bit, bringing her hand back to her own.

He grew worried again. “Emma?”

“Just another Braxton-Hicks,” she brushed off once it had passed. “Nothing exciting.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

He wasn’t convinced, but he’d let it pass. “Okay. Then let’s find you some more pillows and settle in, shall we?”

“Sounds perfect.”

They got comfortable and as close as they could manage before finally relaxing and letting sleep claim them again; his hand was on her belly, feeling where their daughter kicked, while hers rested on his fake one, feeling its mirror.

* * *

Come morning, no one in the house seemed all that surprised at Emma’s presence, least of all Snow.

“She might have sent me this last night,” Emma said, smiling, as she showed him a picture on her phone of him and Neal asleep on the couch. It was pretty adorable, he had to admit.

After being treated to what should have been a too-large breakfast by David—but one which he and Emma scarfed down—they set off on the trek back home, which would be just enough to break Killian’s spell (and hopefully get some other things going, too).

He had to imagine that they made quite the odd-looking pairing as they set off—though apparently still attractive enough to make Snow take more pictures—but something felt oddly comfortable about waddling along through town hand-in-hand with his wife. They didn’t talk much, but it was nice to have some moments alone before it was the three of them. 

Which, if the way Emma kept wincing and reaching for her bump was any indication, would be sooner than later. She kept assuring him she was alright, but as usual, she was an open book. Consequently, he was keeping an eye on the clock as much as he was on distance. 

It took them almost an hour to walk a distance that usually would have taken them half the time, but they weren’t exactly capable of hurrying, even if they’d wanted to.

The tracker on his phone told him he only had to go another few hundred feet when they turned onto their street—the literal home stretch. He was so ready to take a nap and hold his wife properly; but any attempt to move faster just resulted in more awkward waddling. 

Finally, they were at their front gate. It took a bit of maneuvering to open, but Killian managed to get it open and they shuffled up the walkway. 

“Well?” Emma asked. “How much farther?”

If his phone was to believed, mere inches, but no change was taking place yet. So he started to pace in the yard. “Just…about...there.”

He’d walked maybe half a circle when he felt what he could only describe as a deflating sensation, but he watched as his belly slowly shrunk, his chest receded, and his hips returned to their previous size. 

He let his hand linger on the bump as long as possible until there was nothing left to feel. Just to be sure, he lifted up the too-large top to inspect—his abs were back to their previous flatness. And then he had to grab the sweats before they fell off. 

“God, I almost forgot how hot you are,” Emma breathed as she walked over to him, then grabbed the loose fabric and pulled him down for a kiss. The one thing neither of them had protested during all of this was her heightened libido, as awkward as it was to do anything right now. 

“I thought you said you liked the bump,” he teased between kisses.

“I love you every way. I love you,” she told him, reaching for his hips. 

“I love you too, Emma—so much.”

“But seriously—I’m so wet right now.”

He chuckled a bit. “We’re in the front yard, darling; can we at least take it inside?” But then she was leaning into him, and not in the affectionate way—like she had to hold on to stay upright. 

“Mm, nope—this is a different kind of wet.” Her voice was a bit strained. 

His heart skipped a beat. “Does that mean—did your—?” He could barely get the words out. 

She looked up at him and nodded, a mixture of trepidation and excitement on her face. “My water broke.”

Instinct took over and he scooped her into his arms almost immediately. 

“What are you doing? Put me down!” she protested as he made his way to the street, where the Bug was parked.

“I’m taking you to the hospital—what do you think?”

“Okay, but the bag is in the house and your pants are falling down, which normally, I wouldn’t complain about, but given the situation—”

Oh, right. Gently, he set her back down. “Give me five minutes, then.”

“I’ll be in the car.”

But he only got a few steps before turning to look back at her in horror. “My jeans, though…”

“You have other pairs!”

“But those were my favorites, and I’ll be damned if I don’t meet my daughter looking my best.”

“You sound like me yesterday; maybe the hormones haven’t worn off.”

“This has nothing to do with that and everything to do with propriety, Swan.”

“Oh my god, just put on your leathers and get in the car.”

He smirked. “As you wish.”

Hours later, cuddled together in a hospital bed with their darling daughter, Hope, in Emma’s arms. Neither one could take their eyes off of her.

“It’s hard to believe after all that, she’s finally here,” Killian murmured, brushing the wisps of hair on her head.

“Bout damn time,” Emma murmured back.

“She definitely inherited your stubbornness and my flair for the dramatic.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Emma rested her head on his shoulder. “I really am sorry for yesterday, or the other day—whatever day it was.”

He couldn’t blame her confusion; he hardly knew what day it was, either. “It’s fine, love; stop apologizing. You still did all the hard work here—and you did brilliantly,” he assured her, placing a kiss on her temple. 

“Most guys wouldn’t be so chill about being heavily pregnant, even if it was temporary.”

“I think we’ve well established that I’m not like most modern men—in any capacity,” he added, dropping his voice low.

“Stop; I can’t even think about that kind of stuff right now.”

He chuckled and gave her another kiss. “Besides, it wasn’t altogether unpleasant, just...uncomfortable. But educational.”

“Think you’d want to do it for real?”

His stomach flipped at her suggestion; would he? Especially after watching what she just went through? “If it were even possible, I’d tell you to ask me again when this one is much older and the feeling has returned to my hand.” But he couldn’t outright say no, because he had to admit—he was a bit curious.

“That sounds reasonable.”

“But only if you promise to wear a bump with me should I also go past my due date and have a meltdown.”

“Deal.”


End file.
